


'cause those great whites, they have big teeth

by yeeharley



Series: Formation (2020 Whump Bingo Collection) [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Fantastic Racism, Flash Thompson Redemption, Gen, He's Trying Honeys, PTSD- freeform, Peter Parker has PTSD, Political Disputes, Protests, Riots, Speciesism, Whump Fic Bingo, minor original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeeharley/pseuds/yeeharley
Summary: There are dozens, if not hundreds of angry people gathered in front of Midtown School of Science and Technology, all wielding signs and angry faces and loud voices.Vigilantes don't belong in this cityArrest Peter ParkerKeep our children safeMutants aren't peopleAnd, the worst one of all, carried by an old woman with spectacles and an angry smirk on her lips.You should have stayed dead.(Senior year would've been bad enough without the added stress of Peter's identity being revealed without his consent.)
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Formation (2020 Whump Bingo Collection) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899532
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	'cause those great whites, they have big teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfills two squares on my whump bingo card: Angry Mob, Fantastic Racism (Speciesism)
> 
> For J :)
> 
> I'm going to level with you, this one's rushed. I got to a point where I wanted to be done with it :/ I guess that happens sometimes. The ending isn't stellar, but I hope you like it anyways.
> 
> My tumblr: silver-bubbles

When Peter had been on the cusp of his seventh birthday, he had seen an advertisement for a transformer toy on the television set in May and Ben's living room.

It had been a perfectly innocuous thing- bright colors, flashy sounds, and those weird speech-bubble popup things that he saw in Ben's old comic book collection all the time. The toy had cost ten dollars and ninety-nine cents (plus tax) and had probably been made of the cheapest plastic known to man.

Had it been any other commercial, little Peter probably wouldn't have blinked twice. He didn't even like transformers; no, he was much more interested in the Iron Man figurines sold at every New York gift shop ever to exist.

But this commercial? This commercial was special, because the voiceover had been recorded by one of Peter's favorite actors.

He can't even remember who it was now. Maybe John Cena? Dwayne Johnson? Probably Dwayne Johnson, but unless he wants to go back into the archives of internet history, he's never going to find out. 

No, all Peter remembers is that this transformer toy is endorsed by _his favorite actor ever,_ who says that it's _amazing_ and _fun to play with_ and _the best transformer to ever fight evil!_

So, of course, six-year-old Peter had done what any other self-respecting child would've done: he'd pestered May and Ben for that damn transformer until they'd finally bought it for him for his seventh birthday.

And it was the worst toy Peter had ever owned.

Cheap plastic, fake-sounding noises, and _so much smaller_ than he'd expected.

The night of his birthday, his aunt and uncle had sat him down at the kitchen table and explained to him that, a lot of times, the people who sell cheap toys like Peter's transformer hire popular actors to talk about them and get kids excited. They choose the actors because they know kids like Peter are watching and that it will convince them that they want whatever's being sold. The actor gets paid, the company gets paid, and Peter gets disappointed when the fake-looking sword breaks three days after he's bought it.

Peter remembers wondering why people believed everything they heard if they knew they were being tricked. He'd asked Ben, too, and the only thing he'd been able to say was that _sometimes, people believe what other people tell them because it's easy._

He’d thought it was dumb way back then, and had vowed to never believe only what he was told because whoever was telling him had more money than he did. But now, newly seventeen (a decade later), the only thing that comes with the knowledge that _people believe the rich and famous_ is an immense feeling of relief.

After all, Tony Stark has _much_ more money (and more life) than Quentin Beck ever did.

He jumps on the video the minute it's posted up on that billboard, slamming every rumor that could possibly stem from it with the swift ruthlessness of a man slighted. Peter barely makes it back to the tower, swinging away from an angry crowd, before he's outside and ready to combat the press with every fiber of his being. Such is the way of Tony Stark, battling words with an immense amount of money and political sway.

Peter and May move into the tower for a month or two until the hype dies down and Beck's video is debunked. Their apartment isn't safe anymore; someone in the building leaked their location and there was a mob outside within two hours. Tony had airlifted them out of the apartment and threatened anyone who touched them with the lawsuit of their life.

They adjust slowly- well, May does. Peter acts like he's adjusting. 

He's a great actor.

Ned and Michelle can't come visit him for about a month, so he stays in his room for hours on end and does nothing. His mind's racing at the speed of light, he's constantly on edge, and he can't help but feel like something's been taken from him.

Because something _has_ been taken from him.

Tony had come out as Iron Man of his own volition. He had been _ready._ Prepared.

Peter had done _none_ of that. 

Spider-Man had belonged to him and him alone. The sense of anonymity that had come with being one of the only people who knew had been so important that he hadn't even realized how much he'd miss it until it was gone. There was a power in being able to tell who he wanted to, in being able to wait until the time was right.

Quentin Beck, as dead as he was, had managed to dismantle everything Peter had worked for in a matter of thirty seconds. And he would face no consequences, because he was gone.

Gone of his own accord.

And now, Peter's been left behind to pick up the pieces. 

-🕷-

He goes back to school on a Wednesday in the middle of September, and it takes about five minutes for him to feel like turning around and burying himself in his bed. 

Even as he's taking the subway and making his way to Midtown, people stare at him. Whisper behind their hands. Furtive glances shot his way don't go unnoticed, and Peter has _never_ hated his sixth sense as much as he does now, because he can hear what they're saying and he wishes he couldn't.

_Freak. Menace. Just a kid. What would his parents think?_

He wonders the same thing. But they're dead, too, so he's never going to be getting an answer. 

He doesn't like this new trend of unanswered questions. Not one bit.

Peter makes it to Midtown, jogging past the football field with his head ducked low to avoid unwanted attention, and is immediately bowled over by a blur of Ned Leeds. 

"Oh, my God!" Ned squeaks, pulling Peter into the best hug he's ever felt. "You're okay!"

Peter hugs him back, squeezing him around his middle, and peers over his shoulder at an approaching figure with frizzy hair and a small smile on her face. Michelle moves more slowly than Ned- more deliberately, combat boots crunching against the mulch. But when she gets to him, she's wrapping her arms around Peter and Ned just like she always does.

"Hey, nerd," she says. One hand comes up to tousle Peter's hair, and he grins at her (no, he's not crying, why would you think that). "Missed you."

Peter sniffs and nods. "I missed you, too."

They're never going to know how hard it was for him to be in that tower for so long, isolated from everyone around him with only the news and Tony to update him on his situation. He's never going to tell them, either; no, that's not something they need to hear about. He's Spider-Man. Strong, capable, always put together.

He can't stop just because people know about him. That's not how the game is played.

"We're so glad you're back!" Ned says, bubbly and excited as ever. "It's been so boring without you, man, I'm not even kidding."

Peter shoots him a half-smile, sniffing again to try and pull the tears magically back into his eyes. "You have no idea."

They head inside hand-in-hand, Peter between the two people who (even if they don't know it) held him together over the months of loneliness and hardship he'd faced. He feels like he's coming home- these hallways, these linoleum tiles, these murals and staircases and people are his home.

He tries to ignore the stares and whispers from the knots of students clustered against the walls. He knew they'd look at him weird; it isn't every day you find out that the asthmatic nerd from your pre-calculus class is a vigilante hero. Dozens of pairs of eyes land on him and stay there, and Peter really wishes he could melt into the floor.

_This was supposed to be on his terms. A heroic return, a moment to be proud of. But all he feels is the steady buzz of his spider-sense at the base of his neck and the judgment of his classmates and some sort of hot, burning shame._

_He hadn't been expecting shame._

Ned and Michelle stay by his side until he reaches his locker. Peter doesn't bother to look up, but he can feel Michelle's protective glare and Ned's hand resting on his back. They're like an invisible shield, protecting him from everyone around him.

It's like a warm cloud settles over his shoulders. They're with him.

They're here.

The soft sound of approaching footsteps sets Peter's sense off, ringing harshly off the inside of his skull like a bell. He whirls around with his Physics textbook clutched close to his chest only to see Flash, shuffling back and forth on his feet with his lip between his teeth and a watery look in his eyes.

"Hey," Peter mutters, cocking his head to the right and looking Flash up and down. He doesn't look like he's about to confront him- in fact, it looks to be exactly the opposite.

Weird.

"Can I help you?" He asks after Flash doesn't respond for a few awkward moments. "Something wrong?"

Flash looks up, then, and there are actual _tears_ in his eyes. Peter furrows his brow and takes a step forward.

"Dude. Is this about-"

"I was an asshole," Flash blurts out, eyes wide. "I was an asshole to you for years and I didn't know why and I feel like _shit_ about it, Parker."

There's a moment of awkward silence in the hallway following his outburst. Peter watches him nervously, sixth sense still buzzing (even though he doesn't know what triggered it, now). Michelle shoots him an unsure glance and shrugs her shoulder, pressing her lips together into a white line.

"O- _kay_?" Peter says. 

Flash winces and ducks his head back down, a different person than he'd been before Peter's hiatus. "I just... I really respected Spider-Man, for a really long time," he says, voice shameful and scared. "Because he- you- did so many great things and stuck up for the people who really needed it. And I bullied you for years, and you could've fought back but you didn't and I was just a huge asshole-"

"Hey, it's okay." Peter waves a hand like he's wiping a slate clean. "All good, man."

"It's not _okay-"_

"All's forgiven." _This is a conversation he does not want to be having right now, especially at the beginning of the day._ "Seriously, Flash, it's alright."

Flash shuffles backwards a step like he wants to leave, gritting his teeth. Peter stares at him, squints, quirks his lip because maybe if he smiles, he'll be left alone? All he wants is some peace. A normal school day. That would be great.

But Flash steps forward again, vans squeaky against the tile, and leans in like he's about to share something secret and dangerous. His voice is low, conspiratorial, when he speaks.

"I wanted to tell you something," he says.

Peter tries not to sigh and nods. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Looks back and forth like he's looking for something. _Or a lack of something._ "Okay, so most of the people here think you're a hero?"

Duh.

"But some of the kids I used to hang around- don't look at me like that, Jones, I'm trying to do better- think you're dangerous and that you shouldn't be able to do what you're doing."

He's acting like this is some sort of revelation. Peter has always known that there are going to be people who approve of him and people who don't, and _God,_ he's not naive. It's not like he's _new_ to this. Spider-Man has been active for four years now, and in those four years, he's had buildings dropped on him. He's fought Captain America, traveled to space, _died in space,_ and come back to fight again. He's fought illusionists and saved the world not once, but _twice._ It's kind of offensive that Flash thinks he doesn't know that not everyone likes him.

"Flash," Ned says, breathing out like he wants to sound calm but can't quite manage it. "Peter knows-"

"No, Leeds," Flash snaps. "He actually _doesn't,_ and you'd know why if you'd just _listen_ to me. I'm trying to _help."_

Peter holds his hands out, placating, and gestures for Ned to back off. "Okay, Flash. I'm listening. Go ahead."

" _Thank you."_ A curt nod. "These people, they're like, _supremacists?_ Human supremacists. They're against mutants and all that shit, and even if you're technically not really a mutant? I dunno, they're not chill with that and I keep catching the tail end of their conversations and they _really_ don't like you, Parker."

"Okay," Peter mutters, glancing suspiciously down the hallway like he's expecting to see a bunch of people waving anti-mutant flags and getting ready to mob him. "And you're telling this because?"

"You're so _stupid_ for such a smart guy. They're _planning something_. Just- just keep a lookout, I guess." Pause. "You saved my mom a few years ago, Parker. I figured I should at least try to return the favor."

And, with that, Flash sniffs like he's trying to hide a sob, turns on his heels, and marches away down the hall.

-🕷-

Peter doesn't catch a whiff of these supposed 'human supremacists' all day- no mentions, no veiled glares or insults, no nothing. People continue to look at him funny and talk about him like he's not there and doesn't have extremely good hearing, but hey. At least nobody's actively trying to hurt him.

The school day continues as planned. 

He gets his work done, participates in class discussion, turns in all of his makeup assignments in a three-inch binder that's nearly full to bursting. Mister Harrington treats him like he always does with a little bit of extra enthusiasm. Miss Marlei, his physics teacher, quietly thanks him for saving her niece during a bank robbery. one of his classmates gives him a big hug.

Other than that, they treat him like a normal human being.

It feels good to be back in the swing (ha) of things, he has to say. He'd never realized how much he would miss things like school if he didn't have the ability to go anymore. There's a new sort of appreciation budding in the back of his mind, an appreciation of _normal life._

It's something he's been deprived of for way too long.

The first hint that there's a storm building on the horizon comes when Peter's spider-sense goes off when he's packing his back in the hallway. He whirls around, hand itching for his webshooters even though the school had insisted he not be able to bring them into the building. 

There's a pair of senior boys standing across the hall from him, leaning up against the wall of lockers, and they're eyeing him like they're going to kill him. Peter doesn't recognize them; to be fair, he hasn't paid much attention to his grade because he's spent the entire time protecting them.

But he recognizes the look in their eyes as pure malice, and every nerve in his body immediately militarizes.

Peter tilts his head slightly to the side and crosses his hands over his chest, fists clenched, eyes cold and narrow. He knows he shouldn't try to intimidate him, shouldn't use his newly-earned reputation for personal gain, but he's honestly a bit pissed that they're trying to scare _him._

"Can I help you?" He deadpans before turning to sling his backpack over his shoulder.

The two boys scoff and shake their heads in unison, muttering something that sounds wildly offensive to each other before taking off down the hall in the direction of the main doors. Just before they turn the corner, the taller boy turns and shouts something that echoes off the walls and sends a chill down Peter's spine.

_"Try and get around this one, freak!"_

So he doesn't know what that means. He's heard people yell similar things before, but he hasn't figured it out quite yet, because he never seems to actually figure out what 'this one' is.

Peter shrugs it off as much as he can, ignoring the buzzing as it turns into spikes of sharp pain. It doesn't do that very often, and he sets his jaw against the possibility of those two jackasses actually being right. Being dangerous.

_He doesn't think about how the last time his spider-sense ramped itself up this far, he was dying on Titan, because that would be a stupid way to send himself into a panic attack and he's smart like that._

Shoving his books into his backpack, Peter takes one more look in the direction the boys had been coming from before heading off toward the front doors. He checks every doorway he walks past as an extra precaution, but nothing happens.

There's nothing there.

 _They'd probably been kidding around with each other to try and make you feel small,_ Peter thinks, rounding a corner on the tips of his toes. _Messing with Spider-Man is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and they just wanted to have some fun at your expense. High schoolers do that. It's okay if everyone doesn't like you._

He's probably just being paranoid.

It isn't until he reaches the front hallway that he hears the shouting. It's coming from outside, what sounds like dozens of angry voices clamoring to be heard over each other. Peter steps closer to the doors, brow furrowed, and almost smacks Ned when he pops up from around the corner with absolutely no warning.

"Dude," Ned murmurs, worry showing clear in his eyes. "Don't look out there."

Peter gulps; the temptation to figure out what's going on just increased tenfold. "Something's going on?" He asks, wincing at the rawness of his voice. "Ned?"

"Peter-"

Michelle rushes around the corner next, Flash and Betty Brant in tow, and the look on her face is enough to confirm that there's something very wrong. She doesn't react to things, knows how to put on a mask of indifference, but there's a distinct look of worry in her eyes now and he's starting to get scared.

"Peter, we're going to take you out the back entrance," Flash says nervously. He eyes the doors with the most obvious expression of disgust Peter has ever seen before jabbing his finger in the opposite direction. "C'mon."

But Peter's stubborn, even when he shouldn't be. He looks the group over once, then twice, then three times before deciding that it's time to look for himself and pushing straight through the front doors like the absolute moron he is.

The sight in front of him practically knocks the air out of his lungs.

There are dozens, if not hundreds of angry people gathered in front of Midtown School of Science and Technology, all wielding signs and angry faces and loud voices. 

_Vigilantes don't belong in this city_

_Arrest Peter Parker_

_Keep our children safe_

_Mutants aren't people_

And, the worst one of all, carried by an old woman with spectacles and an angry smirk on her lips.

_You should have stayed dead._

Peter stares down at the crowd from his spot at the top of the steps, eyes wide and stinging as tears gather above his lash line. He can vaguely sense Michelle, Ned, Flash, and Betty stepping out of the building to hover behind him, but he doesn't acknowledge them. He can't look away from the angry faces, can't block out the vitriol they're spilling.

Can't blink those words out of his eyes.

_You should have stayed dead._

_You should have stayed dead._

_You should have stayed dead._

_You should havestayeddeadyoushouldhavestayeddeaddeADDEADDEAD-_

Michelle catches him before he realizes that he's falling. His friends- all four of them, even Flash- cluster around him to block out the crowd, but even they can't hide the shouting voices from reaching his ears.

"Hey, it's okay," Ned murmurs, reaching into Peter's backpack to pull out his phone. "I'm calling Mister Stark, Peter. He's going to come get you, okay? He's going to come get you."

But Peter.

Can't.

Breathe.

And now, he can't see.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

_You should have stayed dead._

-🕷-

"-kid? Kid, can you hear me?"

Peter groans and rolls over on what feels like a couch, reaching up to rub at his eyes tiredly. His head is pounding like it's being hit by a sledgehammer, the remnants of angry voices still echoing off of the inside of his skull.

"Peter. Kid. Underoos."

_Tony._

"Mis'r Stark?" Peter yawns, blinking his eyes open and wincing as his eyes adjust to the light. "Mister Stark?"

There he is, sitting across from Peter on a spinning desk chair with a sheet of paper clutched in his hands like he's an actual doctor. Peter giggles to himself at the idea of Tony being a doctor- he has no bedside manner and he'd make people cry daily- before the reality of his situation sets in and he sobers up again.

"Hi, kid," Tony says, pursing his lips. "You feel okay?"

Peter gives a noncommital shrug and pulls himself into a sitting position. He feels gross, sad, dirty. Yuck.

"Yeah, that's your first angry mob." Pause. "You get used to it. Trust me."

He doesn't really want to get used to being shouted at and ridiculed for helping people. That's not a reality he wants to be living in.

But it _is_ the reality he's living in.

"We're going to be filing an official lawsuit," Tony says sharply. "Against the people who organized that riot on school grounds. You're still a minor, so we'll be able to do something about it until you turn eighteen."

Peter's quiet for a moment. He fiddles with the sleeves of his jacket, casts his eyes to the ground, the ceiling, anywhere but Tony's face.

"And when I'm eighteen?"

"We take a different approach. This'll all be taken care of, kid." Tony looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he keeps talking. "You've got nothing to worry about."

More quiet.

"We've got your back, kid. Me, your friends, your aunt. We're not going to let anyone hurt you."

Logically, Peter knows that. But there's still something inside of him that keeps telling him that something's wrong.

 _Eventually,_ he thinks to himself, _things will change. Maybe._

Until then, he's going to be okay.


End file.
